


Five Times Eames Made Arthur Smile During Sex (and One Time Arthur Made Eames Smile)

by cherrybina



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-30
Updated: 2010-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 08:17:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrybina/pseuds/cherrybina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames never expected a smile to be his undoing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Eames Made Arthur Smile During Sex (and One Time Arthur Made Eames Smile)

1.

Eames prides himself on his ability to read people. It’s not something he takes lightly since his career, and very often his life, depends on it.

Arthur keeps his secrets locked up tight, but that just makes it all the more satisfying every time Eames unlocks another one of his doors to find what’s hiding behind it. There are some things that anyone could guess after spending five minutes with Arthur. Eames is entirely unsurprised to learn that Arthur keeps his apartment almost painfully tidy, with even the contents of his kitchen cabinets organized in neat rows. But there are surprises, too - things Eames never would have expected - and those are the secrets he likes learning the best.

Eames’ favorite place to learn about Arthur is in bed, where he can spread him out and map his skin inch by inch, finding where to push and press and stroke to make Arthur gasp and moan and beg for more. Since Arthur has absolutely no objections to Eames’ hands and mouth all over his body, Eames finds himself in Arthur’s bed a lot.

Eames stretches between Arthur’s thighs and sucks Arthur’s cock down into his throat. They’ve been sleeping together long enough that Eames knows the little gulping sounds mean Arthur is close to coming, but not so long that he’s heard all the Arthur’s noises can make and he wants _more_. When Arthur is right on the edge, Eames backs off, slowly letting Arthur’s cock slip from his mouth until his lips are wrapped around the crown.

Arthur’s thighs tremble where they’re locked tight around Eames’ head, and he starts thrusting up, trying to get more. Eames grins around Arthur’s cock and wraps his arms around Arthur’s thighs, holding him still. 

“What the fuck,” Arthur gasps, struggling under his grip.

“Relax, darling,” Eames murmurs, rubbing his thumb on the underside of his cock. “Let me take care of you,”

Arthur groans in frustration and tugs on Eames’ hair, trying to push him back down. “Only if take care of me means suck my cock.”

Eames laughs into the soft skin of Arthur’s inner thigh, then returns to the task of slowly sucking him. It’s easy enough for Eames to get Arthur off - he knows Arthur well enough for that now - but Eames doesn’t want Arthur to come just yet. Eames’ own cock is hard and aching between his legs, and he ruts against the sheets as he teases Arthur, taking him to the brink and then pulling back again and again, until the last of Arthur’s finely held control slips away and he’s clutching the sheets and begging Eames to _please, please please_ make him come.

Eames pushes Arthur’s thighs wide open and slides his mouth down Arthur’s cock, hollowing his cheeks as he takes him all the way down, again and again. This time Eames doesn’t let up, and when Arthur starts to fly apart, Eames skates his fingers over Arthur’s balls and slides one back to press at the soft skin behind them.

Arthur’s whole body arches up off the bed and he comes and comes, flooding Eames’ mouth, shaking like he can’t stop. Eames sucks him through it, then lets Arthur’s cock slip out of his mouth. When Arthur opens his eyes, he looks completely dazed.

“Oh my god,” Arthur says, then lets out what Eames can only describe as a giggle. “Oh my _god_.”

Eames’ cock is so hard it hurts, but he forgets all about it when Arthur gives a full-bodied shiver and smiles up at Eames. It’s not like Eames has never seen Arthur smile before, but _this_ , this is different. This isn’t laughing at one of Cobb’s horrible jokes or a sarcastic smirk aimed in his direction - Arthur’s whole face lights up and he smiles so wide the corners of his eyes crinkle up and Eames can see all of Arthur’s teeth. Somehow Eames has never noticed Arthur’s dimples before, but now he’s struck by the urge to touch Arthur’s face, stroke his thumb over those dimples, and do whatever it takes to keep him smiling that like forever.

And then the moment is over, and Arthur rubs his hand over his face. “What the fuck was that?” he asks, his voice full of wonder.

Eames feels weirdly unbalanced, but he pulls himself together and smirks down at Arthur. “That was me sucking your cock. Surely you noticed.”

“Oh, I noticed,” he says, smiling again, and Eames has to close his eyes at the wave of dizziness that passes over him.

When he opens them, Arthur is looking up at him with something darker in his eyes, and he reaches for Eames’ cock, rolling him onto his back. Eames lets himself get lost in the feel of Arthur’s hands and mouth on him, taking him higher, higher, until he tips over the edge in a blinding rush, breathless from the force of it.

Later, Eames pulls his trousers on in the dark, while Arthur watches from the bed, already half asleep. When he’s fully dressed, he walks over to the edge of the bed.

Arthur starts to sit up, but Eames gently pushes him back down with a hand to his chest. “I know my way out, love. This isn’t the first time I’ve left you unable to walk.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Yes, you’re very impressive.”

“You say that every time,” Eames says, then kisses Arthur before he can reply. “See you tomorrow?”

Arthur smiles at him. It’s a soft, sleepy smile, not much more than a small curl of his lips, but it’s enough.

2.

Eames can’t even remember how the argument had started; all he can focus on is how goddamn stubborn Arthur is about everything.

“You just can’t stand the idea that someone other than you might be right, can you, darling?” Eames snaps.

“Why do you call me that?” Arthur replies with a hard edge to his voice. “I’m not your _darling_.”

It’s like the argument took a sudden turn, veering off course, and Eames struggles to find a response. This isn’t the first time Arthur has made him feel like he’s just walked into the middle of a film and has _no idea_ what’s going on. The thing is, Eames has never thought about why he says it. It’s just something he’s always done and no one has ever called him on it before.

Something on Arthur’s face softens when Eames doesn’t snap back. “I’m getting out of here,” he mutters, and walks out of the room.

It’s only a few hours later when they end up in bed together. Make-up sex may be the biggest cliche in the book, but it’s still really fucking amazing.

They’re on their sides, facing each other and rutting together like a couple of teenagers, and Eames slides his hand down Arthur’s back and over the swell of his arse, hauling him closer. Arthur rocks his hips so their cocks slide together, their skin damp and hot in the space between them. Eames lets his fingers slip into the cleft of Arthur’s arse, and Arthur moans into his neck and shifts his hips back into Eames’ touch.

“You like that, baby?”

Arthur’s hips stop and his eyes fly open. He stares at Eames for a second before bursting into laughter. It stings like a slap in the face. No one has ever laughed at Eames during sex, and it makes him feel raw and vulnerable.

But then Arthur finally stops laughing, and he smiles at Eames, big and bright, and just like that, all of Eames’ doubt slips away.

“No more baby?” Eames asks sheepishly.

“No more baby.” Arthur is still smiling when he reaches down and wraps his hand around both their cocks. “I like darling,” he murmurs, his breath hot against Eames’ neck.

When Eames comes, he whispers _darling_ in Arthur’s ear, hushed, like a secret, and it feels like it means something it never meant before.

Later, Arthur presses up close to his chest, one arm slung over Eames’ waist.

“It’s really late,” Eames says, as he starts to drift off.

“Yeah,” Arthur answers, but he doesn’t move his arm from where it’s wrapped tight around Eames’ waist, and they fall asleep curled together on the bed.

3.

They’re already drunk when they leave the bar, and after they get back to Arthur’s place, Arthur has the brilliant idea that they should drink more. Eames isn’t going to say no to that, especially not when Arthur somehow ends up in his lap, warm and pliant, his mouth tasting of whiskey as he grinds his arse down on Eames’ cock.

Eames’ head is spinning, and his hands feel too big for his body, but he manages to wrestle them both out of their clothes and into bed without anyone getting hurt.

“You like me,” Arthur says, as Eames opens the bottle of lube and squirts some out on his hand.

“Not in the slightest,” Eames answers, dropping the lube onto the bed beside him and pushing slick fingers into Arthur.

Arthur lets out a breathy little sigh and shifts his legs wider. “I really love your fingers.”

Eames twists his fingers just to hear Arthur make that sound again. “I know.”

“And you,” Arthur says, poking him in the chest with a wobbly hand, “you love my ass.”

Eames laughs. “I do. It’s really rather fantastic.”

“You should - you should fuck me,” Arthur says, his face brightening like the idea just occurred to him.

Eames groans and pushes Arthur’s knees wider. “M’trying. Now, shh, stop talking.”

Eames closes his eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the way the room is spinning in favor of the hot slick heat of Arthur’s arse tight around his fingers.

“Hey.”

Eames opens his eyes and looks down at Arthur.

“S’good?” Arthur slurs.

“Fucking? Fucking is _always_ good.”

“Not the fucking.”

It takes Eames’ head a minute to catch up, and even then he’s not sure he really knows what Arthur is talking about. Eames isn’t ready for this conversation at all, certainly not when he’s about three seconds away from passing out, but Arthur’s looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, the corners of his mouth curled up in a tiny smile.

Eames pulls his fingers out and moves up Arthur’s body, so he can lean in and press his forehead to Arthur’s. “Yeah, it’s good,” he breathes quietly against Arthur’s mouth.

They’re too close together, and Eames is really drunk, but there’s no mistaking Arthur’s face when it breaks into his biggest smile. Eames wants to move back so he can see Arthur properly, but his head feels too heavy, so instead he brings his hands up and cups Arthur’s cheeks, letting his thumbs skim over Arthur’s dimples. Even in his alcohol-induced state he knows it’s a silly thing to do, but he’s been thinking about Arthur’s dimples entirely too much, and he can’t seem to help it now that they’re right in front of him. He’s been thinking about all of Arthur entirely too much lately, and while the implications are enough to terrify him in the daylight, it doesn’t seem as scary here in the dark with both of them drunk and Arthur’s skin soft under his hands.

Eventually the alcohol wins, and Eames lets his head fall into the crook of Arthur’s neck. He just needs to rest for a minute, get his bearings, so he can stop with this sentimental bullshit and fuck Arthur properly, but when Arthur brings his arms up and wraps them around Eames’ back, it’s easier to just close his eyes and breathe in the smell of Arthur’s skin.

Eames wakes with his face stuck to the sheets and his brain pounding in his skull. He moves slowly, sitting up only when he’s sure he isn’t going to puke, and rubs his hand over his eyes. Arthur doesn’t move from where he’s cocooned in the blankets, his head buried under a pillow. Apparently Eames hadn’t closed the bottle of lube properly, and there’s a giant wet spot on the sheets next to him. When he peers over the edge of the bed, he sees the bottle on the floor, still dripping onto the rug.

He nudges Arthur’s leg.

“Ugh,” Arthur grunts from under the pillow.

Eames carefully makes his way to the bathroom. He feels marginally better after brushing his teeth and splashing cold water onto his face. His memories are hazy, but he remembers whiskey and lube and Arthur’s face, smiling at him like he did something brilliant. Eames grips the edge of the sink and waits for his dizziness to subside.

When Eames comes out of the bathroom, Arthur’s sitting up on the side of the bed clutching his head in his hands.

“You look like shit,” he tells Arthur as he sits down next to him, handing him a glass of water and the bottle of aspirin.

“There’s lube all over the bed,” Arthur croaks. “There’s lube on the _carpet_.”

“I’ll clean it up,” Eames says. He leans over and kisses Arthur on the cheek then goes to make the coffee.

4.

Business is slow, so when the opportunity presents itself, Eames takes a side job in Moscow. It’s only supposed to last a couple weeks, but it ends up more complicated than anyone expected. Four months go by before he finds himself weary and exhausted on a flight home.

Without thinking it all the way through, Eames gives the taxi driver Arthur’s address and shows up unannounced at Arthur’s door. Eames barely makes it through the door before he finds himself pressed up against the wall, with Arthur kissing him, heated and frantic.

Eames doesn’t have much of a working plan beyond _bend Arthur over any available horizontal surface_ , but before he can do anything about it, Arthur yanks Eames’ trousers down and drops to his knees.

Arthur’s mouth is as amazing as he remembers, and he starts to tell him that. “I missed you,” is what comes out instead, “so much.”

Arthur pulls his mouth off and looks up at Eames in surprise. Arthur’s hand is still moving on Eames’ cock, slick with spit, and since it’s not like he can take it back now, Eames adds, “I really did.”

Arthur’s whole face breaks out into a smile, and it’s been far too long since Eames has seen it but it still hits him deep in that very same place. Arthur - _oh_ \- Arthur is still stroking Eames’ cock, smiling so big and bright from down on his knees, and Eames doesn’t even have the chance to warn him before he comes all over Arthur’s face.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Eames gasps, slumping against the wall, then sinking slowly down to his knees in front of Arthur.

“You already told me you missed me,” Arthur says, smirking at him. “Does that mean this is just a bonus?”

Eames laughs breathlessly, then strokes his thumb over Arthur’s lips, wiping away his come. He wraps his hand around the back of Arthur’s neck and pulls him close, tracing his tongue over Arthur’s cheek. Arthur groans and brings his hands up to Eames’ hips to steady himself as Eames licks him clean. By the time Eames is done, Arthur is rutting against his thigh, so Eames pushes his hand into Arthur’s trousers and brings him off with a few strokes.

After, Arthur sends Eames to heat up leftovers while he goes to shower. Arthur comes into the kitchen just as Eames is sitting down to eat. He’s barefoot, wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms, and Eames doesn’t have to touch them to know how soft and worn they are, because he’s had his hands all over Arthur in them before. Arthur’s hair is clean and soft; it curls down over his forehead and Eames fights the ridiculous urge to brush it off his face.

Arthur steals bites of Eames’ food while Eames talks about the job in Moscow, and Eames washes the dishes while Arthur talks about Cobb’s latest plan. It’s easy and familiar, and they fall back into conversation like no time has passed at all.

“I have a really early morning,” Arthur says finally, stifling a yawn.

“Right,” Eames says, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “I’ll just - ”

“You came straight here?” Arthur interrupts.

“From the airport, yeah,” Eames answers.

“You should stay,” Arthur says, “Since all of your stuff is here anyway.”

Eames swallows hard and nods. “Okay,” he says, and follows Arthur to bed.

5.

Something goes terribly wrong before their next job even starts, and Eames finds himself watching in horror as a very angry mark holds a gun to Arthur’s head in an abandoned building. This is part of this line of work, and Eames half expects something like this to happen every day, but now that Arthur is the one in danger, he freezes.

Eames has watched Arthur die more times than he can count, only to wake up beside him moments later. But this is different. This is _real_. Eames doesn’t have to reach for his totem - he knows where he is, he knows how he got here, and he knows if the trigger is pulled, Arthur isn’t going to wake up from a dream. Arthur isn’t going to wake up ever again. 

Later, Eames will let his mind imagine all of the horrible things that could have been if Cobb hadn’t been quick with his gun. Later, it will make him sick that Cobb is the one to save Arthur’s life, not Eames. But now all he can do is stand rooted to the spot like a frightened child, a voice in his mind screaming, _this is real, this is real, this is real_.

“You okay, man?” Cobb asks Arthur, with a firm hand to his shoulder after it’s over, and Arthur nods, seemingly unfazed by the entire thing.

Eames doesn’t ask if Arthur is okay. Eames doesn’t ask anything at all.

It’s not until later when they’re in their bed that Eames tries to speak.

Arthur rides him with a slow, heated intensity that makes Eames’ toes curl, and he digs his fingers into Arthur’s hips and pulls him closer and closer until their chests are pressed tight together and there is no space left between them.

It throws Arthur’s rhythm off but he keeps moving anyway, kissing Eames soft and slow before leaning back and bracing himself on Eames’ thighs.

Words have never been hard for Eames, especially in bed, endearments and filthy promises rolling easily off his tongue, telling Arthur that he’s _so tight, so good_ , and _just like that, darling_. But now his throat is tight with something he can’t name, and the words get caught up in his chest.

“I - ” he starts, then shudders when Arthur rolls his hips just right.

Arthur keeps rocking his hips and Eames wants to forget about trying to say something that doesn’t want to come out and let Arthur lull him into a sweet rhythm until they tip over the edge together, but Arthur’s looking down at him expectantly so he tries again.

“Arthur,” he whispers, his name feeling strange on his tongue here in bed. “Arthur, I - ”

And that’s as far as he gets before Arthur’s face breaks out into a smile as bright as the sun and Eames is _lost_. Arthur rubs his thumb over Eames’ lips, and his eyes flutter shut as he grinds himself down on Eames’ cock again and again until Eames can’t even breathe. It’s real, he knows it’s real, and all of it is _his_.

“I - I’m gonna come,” Eames chokes out, and then he does, hands tight on Arthur’s hips.

Arthur rides him through it, one hand stroking his own cock until he spills all over Eames’ chest.

Later, when Eames is curled around Arthur’s back, he realizes that he never did say anything, but when Arthur links their fingers together over his chest he thinks maybe it doesn’t matter after all.

When Eames wakes the next morning, he finds Arthur in the bathroom buttoning his shirt, his hair still wet from the shower.

“Nice of you to finally wake up,” Arthur says.

Without thinking about it, Eames reaches up and cups Arthur’s face, his thumb sweeping over Arthur’s cheek. Arthur’ smiles at that, a dimple appearing right where Eames’ thumb is pressing into his skin, and Eames thinks that for all his skill at reading people, he’s an open book for Arthur. Somehow the knowledge is less terrifying than he would have expected, and he curls his hand around the back of Arthur’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss.

Arthur’s mouth tastes like peppermint toothpaste, and his skin smells like their soap, and Eames wants nothing more than to drag Arthur back down into bed until he’s sweaty and rumpled, keep him there forever where they’re safe and alone and together, but then Arthur grabs his hand and drops something into it.

Eames pulls his mouth away and looks down and sees Arthur’s shiny silver cuff links resting in his palm. When he looks back up, Arthur is holding his arm up between them. Eames fingers the cuff links for a moment, then hooks them into the buttonholes, smoothing Arthur’s shirtsleeves when he’s done.

“Thanks,” Arthur says, then goes to finish getting dressed. Eames watches him go, then reaches for his toothbrush.

1.

Before Eames gets his world knocked out from under him by a pretty smile, there is the first time. Before he knows what Arthur sounds like when he comes, or that he alphabetizes his spice rack, or how it feels to almost lose all of it right in front of his eyes, Arthur brings Eames back to his apartment on an ordinary Wednesday evening.

It isn’t a date. Eames isn’t interested in dating Arthur; he just wants to find out of his arse is as fantastic as it looks underneath those well-fitting trousers.

Arthur is irritatingly hard to read, but there’s no mistaking the way he arches under him when Eames pushes Arthur back on the couch and kisses him.

Arthur leads the way to the bedroom - Eames doesn’t know this place, not yet. When Arthur pulls him down onto the sheets, his hands sure and steady on Eames’ waist and his mouth hot and wet and so full of promise, Eames can’t help but pull back for a minute and smile down at Arthur, because he knows this is going to be good.


End file.
